


Venom

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Female Voldemort, Harry is seventeen, Horror, Male Harry Potter, Mild Sexual Content, Naga Voldemort, Not Beta Read, One-Sided Attraction, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: “My mate...my soul…”And then, his vision swam. The world began to darken at the corners; his lips, his ears, his fingers, and his toes all faded from his memory.Something pulled at him, squirmed and writhed from somewhere within him. It itched, dragging him deeper into the nothing.A soft voice began to speak, one he, somehow, knew he should have recognized, but couldn’t. It sang to him, carried him adrift.“Sleep...and remember me…”Harry closed his eyes, and then--Nothing.





	Venom

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill. I am not sure if I liked this one, but it could only just be me feeling dissatisfied with the story. Please mind the typos, this was not beta read, as my tumblr prompt fills often are. 
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos, if you enjoyed. 
> 
> Have a wonderful holiday, everyone!

"Are you sure this is a good idea, mate?" Ron cut in nervously, disrupting the heavy silence that had fallen between them in the dark forest.

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes because  _ of course  _ Ron would be nervous now. They had agreed to this, they had made their decision earlier that morning when making plans for Halloween. Leave it to his best friend to chicken out now before the real fun actually happened.

"Ron, are you really going to do this now? You were the one that came up with the idea in the first place!" Harry said, exasperated when Ron yelped suddenly, his steady footsteps now sounding more like stumbles in the dark.

Ron had likely tripped on something, knowing him. Maybe he had gotten caught in a spider's web? Maybe he had caught his foot on a tree root and now was working aimlessly to not fall on his arse?

Either way, Harry did not bother to turn back around. He was on a mission to get to the old Riddle manor, and there was nothing that could stop him. There were too many strange things happening at the place. Disappearances. The sounds of terrified screams. Odd things that should have made him think twice before going in, and of course, he did have his reservations about this whole thing.

But Ron. He had made it sound like a perfectly good idea to go on ahead.

And now, here Ron was. With second thoughts right at the last second. Harry could not go back now, not when he had crafted a perfectly good lie to his parents to get through. Especially when he'd told them that he'd be going to be at Ron's when he in fact would  _ not  _ be at Ron's.

"It's just, this is creepy. Everything is silent and all..." Ron said again, seemingly gathering himself before following after Harry's more brusque pace.

"...What did you expect? I  _ told  _ you that this would not be a good idea. I didn't want to come out here at all. But you insisted. It's too late to turn back now, Ron. The lies have already been made, we can't possibly take it back after we told our parents we'd be at each other's house."

Ron heaved a heavy breath before shuffling more quickly behind Harry.

"...You're right, I'm sorry. But can't we just go to 'Mione's place? It isn't too far from where we are."

Harry groaned, finally stopping to round on Ron.

_ Honestly. _

Ron looked ghastly underneath the glow of full moon, his blue eyes wide and terrified at the prospect of moving further through the shadows. It was fortunate that they had some light to ease their path, especially when their flashlights, although useful in some respect, were too small to truly capture much around the forest. They could clearly discern a couple trees and some gnarled roots, but not much else.

Still, it made Harry pause for a moment. He was tempted to call the whole thing off right then and there. He didn't like the terrified look on his friend's face. At all.

But toss it, it hadn't been his idea to do this. He had wanted to stay home and play horror games all night long. And again, Ron had been convincing.

There  _ was  _ something odd happening in the Riddle manor. He couldn't just go back now without at least scouting the place...

"No, Ron. We can't just crash at 'Mione's place like it's alright. We both agreed that we wouldn't tell her what we would be up to. Lord knows how  _ well  _ she'd react to seeing us both dressed up in heavy camo trousers and long-sleeve jumpers. She'd find out immediately, and then neither of us would be able to hear the end of it."

Ron paused, mouth opening to say something before closing it immediately when Harry glared at him.

The last thing they both needed was an incensed Hermione on their backs. It was already bad enough that they were lying to their parents and sneaking off in the middle of the night to a potentially haunted manor. They didn't need to tick off Hermione and have her rat them both out in an effort to stop them from going through with their, admittedly, stupid plan.

She was loyal, but she'd never accept their stupidity for such things. Especially when there were plenty of rumors following the manor like a plague. Rumors that, in Harry's opinion, were enough to scare even the bravest.

"Toss it, why did you let me talk you into this? Why didn't you just tell me no before we came here?" Ron groaned, hands digging into his hair in frustration. Harry shrugged, shooting him a resigned look before turning his attention back to the invisible path they'd been taking for several minutes now.

There was no real way to get to the manor, but everyone that lived in town  _ just  _ knew instinctively where it was. Better to know where it was than to not know at all and unwittingly stumble upon it when camping with the family. It was a place everyone avoided, save for a couple knuckle-headed teens. A group that, unfortunately, Harry fell under since he had only just turned seventeen earlier this year.

It certainly felt like the beginnings of a horror movie, but Harry would never tell that to Ron.

Harry started trekking through the trees, flashlight pointed to his feet to avoid stubborn roots and large rocks in his path. He heard Ron moving steadily behind him, oddly silent as they continued to walk.

They didn't stop until the heavy foliage broke, and the manor came within view.

Harry shot the manor an assessing look, taking in the severe state of disrepair the place had fallen into.

The gates that had, once, protected the manor from thieves and other dangerous folk were rusted over. Misshapen and crude underneath Harry’s careful scrutiny.

It looked just like the manor in that Resident Evil game he and Ron had played earlier that month in anticipation of Halloween. It was uncanny, really. The wood holding the porch atop the double doors of the manor was rotted over, and Harry, if he squinted, could even see the way the roof at the very top looked about ready to collapse. 

It was a hazard to go in, and Harry knew that. Hell, he could feel the danger on his skin like the frigid air tickling the nape of his neck, but that did not deter him in the least.

He was going in there, even if it killed him. He would make the best of his night, and it wasn’t as though he was going alone, he reasoned. He was going in there with Ron, and that was marginally better than him going alone.

“Alright, it looks like no one has been here for ages. The gate is wide open. We can definitely get in through the front entrance.” Harry said, turning round to shoot his friend the most convincing look he could muster.

But Ron wasn’t there. 

The boy that had been following closely behind him had disappeared. The only sign that Ron had even been there at all, the second set of footprints in the snow winding down the path they had taken.

Harry felt dread seize his throat, as if a clawed hand had suddenly gripped him tightly by the neck.

“Ron?” Harry asked, swallowing down his fear to rush back to the opening they’d come through in the forest.

His footsteps echoed ominously in the emptiness. The crunch of his steps, of twigs and dried leaves as they snapped beneath his feet, thunderous.

It had taken him seconds to reach the opening to the forest, to scan the area for any sign of Ron. His friend wasn’t the most secretive, nor the most careful when he walked. On the walk to the manor, Ron had made more noise than a stampeding elephant. 

So this silence unnerved him, more than he was willing to admit.

But instead of the sight of his friend’s turned back, or the sound of loud curses as Ron dutifully rushed back to civilization, Ron was nowhere to be found.

He wasn’t hiding behind the towering trees or the bushes flanking the stubborn trunks. All Harry had found were two pairs of footprints on the ground, packed deeply into the snow. They pointed back in the direction Harry had come through--towards the manor. 

It was as though Ron had vanished out of thin air. There wasn’t a third set of steps evidencing that Ron had run back. Harry couldn’t make sense of it. People didn’t just  _ disappear  _ like that.

Harry swerved around to glance at the haunted house, dread making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

If Ron had not gone back from where they’d come, then there could only be one place he could have gone. Though how this was, how Ron could have gone to the manor when Harry had been staring at the only entrance to the entire place, Harry could not pin down.

It was impossible. The logical conclusion was to assume that Ron had turned back, that he had acted incredibly out of character to avoid the trouble waiting for them both in that manor. 

Harry wasn’t convinced. In fact, everything about the whole situation reeked. 

Harry paused, eyes narrowed into thin slits as he surveyed the open gates. 

There was an itch just beneath his skin, a buzz of intuition thrumming along with his blood telling him otherwise. It made absolutely no sense. Hermione, if she were there, might even smack him upside the head for even considering what he was considering. 

Harry couldn’t contain it even if he tried. Everything within him  _ screamed  _ that Ron was in there. Petulant and assured. More confident than the shadow of fear that lingered like a veil in the back of his thoughts. 

_ Ron was in the manor.  _

Harry did not hesitate. He clenched his jaw before brusquely heading to the rusted gate, ignoring just how loud his footsteps were in the near silent place. There were no birds rustling through the trees. No sounds of animals crying out, hunting and playing, in the dark as Harry trekked on. 

Everything was still.

It did not deter Harry, in the least. Convinced, even if irrationally so, that Ron was in the manor and that his friend had not come willingly. 

Ron would never go out on his own. The redhead, though brave and stubborn, had been terrified once they’d taken their first steps into the forest. Just the mere notion of  _ spiders  _ was enough to get the bloke turning on his heels. It was an easy connection to make, even if it required quite a leap, even for him.

Harry was resolute in his stance, however. 

The pieces just didn’t line up. There were no separate set of prints indicating Ron had turned back. No expletive when Ron, without a doubt, eventually ran into a cobweb somewhere in the dark. No sound of boots as they crushed leaves beneath his feet. Though anyone could argue that there was no evidence alluding that Ron was in the manor either, all Harry needed was his gut.

And it had spoken loud and clear.

If Ron had not gone into the manor willingly, then something had taken Ron without Harry knowing the wiser. 

Harry passed the gates without sparing them a glance, shuffling quickly towards the front door that Harry had been certain were closed when Ron and he had first arrived. Harry’s gaze narrowed into slits, lips pursing into a tight line.

The doors were open. Parted wide, as if beckoning him to come inside. A silent invitation only Harry could understand. 

Harry decided he would take the invitation. More than aware that he had been given no choice in the matter. 

The polished wood and carvings inlaid of the door glowed brightly when Harry pointed his flashlight at them. The emeralds etched to the wood were lit in brilliant greens. The color becoming more and more pronounced as Harry neared, as if it hadn’t been exposed to light in far too long.

Harry frown deepened, but did not stop, even when everything within him told him to turn back.

He squashed his fear down, shoving it behind a proverbial lock and key. His friend was inside the house. There was no way he would leave him behind, not when he could do something to get him out.

_ Especially when it’s your fault he even disappeared in the first place... _ a quiet voice hummed in the back of Harry’s head, guilt like a ten pound weight in the pit of his stomach.

The guilt fueled his movements. Encouraged him to head inside even when his skin crawled.

Harry had barely stepped between the grand entrance when the doors abruptly slammed shut behind him. As if a powerful wind had suddenly blown against them, rattling the very foundations of the manor.

He stumbled, only just catching himself before he acquainted himself with the dust-ridden floor below. 

Quickly, Harry after regaining his balance, he turned to the door and clasped on the ornate handle. He pulled, but it refused to buckle under his weight. The doors unmoving even when he pressed his foot against the door to force it open.

_ The wind couldn’t have done that… _

Harry’s stomach jolted at the thought, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. He released the door after yanking at the door two more times with all the force he could muster. 

It wouldn’t make a difference to yank on it. It was clearly locked.

Harry’s unease spiked, his grip on the flashlight tightening imperceptibly.

It had been an impressive show of power...though not entirely unexpected. He had already suspected something more was happening in the manor. His instincts practically screamed at him to turn tail the moment Ron had suddenly gone missing. 

What was shocking though was that the ghost, or spirit, would just reveal itself to him like that. It would have made sense to catch him by surprise by trapping him in a room or something. To keep itself hidden as he explored the place while looking for Ron.

It was how most horror movies went. But for the door to just shut itself on its own? Not one second after rushing inside? Harry wondered what that could mean. 

Maybe the creature felt confident than Harry would not be coming out alive? Maybe it somehow knew that once Harry walked in, offering himself like a sacrifice to an angry God, its success was assured? 

If that was the reasoning behind this show, then the ghost, demon,  _ thing  _ was sorely mistaken. Harry would not make this easy, not when his friend’s life was at risk. Even if he died in the process, he’d make sure Ron made it out of it alive to tell the tale.

"I know you're there." Harry said, taking in the grandiosity of the main entrance with a shrewd gaze. 

He hadn’t expected a response, so it was unsurprising when silence was all he got in return. 

The creature may have announced in no lesser terms that it was there, but it seemed that facing the monster head on was out of the question.

The creature wanted to scare him, that was for sure. But it wanted a hunt. A chase, if the unsettling silence that surrounded him was anything to go by. Harry wouldn’t give it the satisfaction.

Harry cast his flashlight about the room with tense shoulders and bent knees. Ready for the smallest inkling of trouble even as a heavy silence settled around his shoulders like a cloak. Too aware that if he let his guard down, that the creature would pounce.

It had already done so when Harry made the mistake of taking his eyes off Ron. What was stopping it from doing something when he turned his back? 

Harry eyed the way the shadows danced along old furniture, taking in the ghost of a once opulent parlor. It was a shadow of its former self, with dust coating every single surface in the room, refusing to part from the furniture it had made its home. 

It was almost a shame that it had been left to such disrepair. That no one in the past decade had purchased the home and decided to restore it to its former glory.

Though, in all fairness, Harry was certain that the neglect was more due to the resident ghost problem than actual disinterest. No one was crazy enough to buy the Riddle manor when it was rumored to be haunted, when there were too many bizarre incidents connecting back to the manor.

Except for him and Ron, of course. That should have been his first clue.

But there was no point regretting this fact now. With each second he lingered in this ancient parlor, Ron could be fighting for his life somewhere. Scared.

Harry banished the mental image of Ron’s pleading gaze.

Harry swiveled his flashlight around the room, nose scrunching with distaste when the smell of mildew and decay practically oozed from the walls. The holes and pockets in some of the rugs on the floor, moth eaten and green with mold.

It was as decrepit as it was impressive. It was undeniable that this place, at one point, had been booming with loud voices and cheerful chatter. An impressive piece of architecture that was both the envy and the delight of all that entered. 

The entrance was grand. The style reminiscent of the perfect symmetry of renaissance chapels, with not a single arch, painting, or step on the staircase out of place. Everything was precisely calculated, measured and tailored to the tastes of its owner--the style, perhaps at one point, innovative and scandalous.

Though, none of the poise remained now. Once soft green walls that had once paired impeccably with mahogany chairs and tables, with bookshelves and even a baby grand at the far corner right of the room, were now were darkened with age and neglect. The doorway with its beautiful archway, dazzled with oil lanterns and paintings, instead of shining brilliantly beneath his flashlight, were worn and rusted. Some of the hooks lodged off, as if torn from the walls. The source of that aggression, unknown.

Harry walked over the carpeted floor until he was right at the center of the parlor. His attention suddenly drawn to the second floor, the shadows writhing in the background forcing him to look. 

There was something there.

Harry could not explain the feeling. The twists in his stomach were like cramps. Like a sharp claw had pressed against his solar plexus and refused to ease up. Even as his breaths strained, became louder and shallower.

The monster was in the second floor. The feeling was unmistakable.

And then Harry was moving, flashlight catching on one of the two staircases of the parlor. It wound around in a narrow spiral, the black railing gleaming beneath his light even through the many layers of dust coating it. 

The steps on the staircases glinted a bright yellow, but Harry did not stop to consider whether it was safe to even climb up. His stomach was in knots. Something was urging him to go upstairs, and Harry had to follow. 

It pulsed like a heartbeat, in time to the staccato of his breaths.

Harry took the first step, and it was as though all the air had been sucked from the room. 

If the room had been still and silent before, nothing compared to the sudden listlessness that fell around him. The darkness felt more oppressive, practically oozing from the corners and the cracks in the foundations of the walls.

Even the railing looked brittle, the iron more like string than the gleaming black Harry had scrutinized earlier. 

He hesitated. It was a brief second, no more than an exhalation. 

Doubt swelled inside him, like an over-inflated balloon ready to burst at any moment’s notice. Fear reared its ugly head, depriving him once more of the tenacity he was known for. Notorious for, if what Hermione said was true. Everything was screaming for him to turn back.

Harry went forward anyway, swatting it away like a bug. Ron needed him. He couldn’t hesitate now.

Another step, and his senses began to  _ scream. _ The voice, unlike one Harry had never heard before, shouted for him to turn back around. To ignore the second floor, to explore the first floor and leave things at that.

Harry pushed through it, jaw tense.

He wouldn’t be cowed. Not when the creature seemed to want him to stay away. It was hiding something up there, it had to be if it was fighting Harry tooth and nail. If this sudden fear was the creature’s doing.

_ Maybe what it’s hiding is Ron… _

Harry took another painful step, and then another, and another. He didn’t stop even when his gums ached from how tightly he clenched on his jaw. Though this fact did not deter him. He doubted anything could. Not the whispers that suddenly began to murmur into his ears, and certainly not the weight that burrowed deeply in the pit of his stomach. 

The voice begged him to turn back, to see reason where there wasn’t any. But he couldn’t, he had already come this far. Ron was somewhere in the darkness, and abandoning him was out of the question.

Though, even knowing this fact, Harry’s mind was absolute chaos. The rush of adrenaline through his veins, the tension in his limbs when another wave of fear clenched tightly around his windpipe. Harry could hardly make sense of the shadows and the yellow light catching the banister.

It was madness, the crushing weight of his own emotions and his stubborn nature clashing like two blades meeting.

And then Harry was at the top of the staircase, the world swaying around him as he tried to wrangle his breaths into submission. The panic thrumming in his veins abated at once, the rush of blood to his ears silenced.

Everything grew still, as if Harry had not tried to fight through a powerful gust of emotion forcing him back. 

Harry cast a glance back to the bottom of the stairs, his fingers digging into his flashlight to glimpse at the world below. 

There was only shadow. The light did not penetrate the gloom. Not even the broken windows at the bottom-most floor could pass through. It was as though the black devoured the light, prevented even a sliver of moonlight to wash the gloom with pale, silvery light.

Harry’s heart raced, fear like a sharp blade pressed to his chest. He couldn’t turn back, even if he wanted to. There was no telling what would happen if he went back down after he’d risked his arse to go up, when he had ignored reason to chase after something that waited for him there.

It was too late, and it would do nothing for Ron.

Harry righted himself, realizing then that he’d been doubled over. That in his rush, he hadn’t noticed how dangerously his knees dipped and his head swayed.

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry turned his attention to his new surroundings.

The stairs had brought him to a wide hallway. The furnishings and the cabinets lined along the walls nearly black with age and tattered, just as the first floor had been. Except now, there were actual  _ doors _ . Not entrance ways, not openings, but actual doors that Harry could explore.

There were portraits of all shapes and sizes flush against the wall. Pictures and frames either face down or standing proudly atop the cabinets and dressers right at the entrance of the hall.

Harry could not make out a single face in any of them from where he stood.

_ Harry… _

A startled gasp escaped his lips before he swiveled around--certain that the voice had come from somewhere behind him.

But there was nothing behind him. Only a door that looked as if it had seen better days. The edges were rusted. Burnt orange and red glittering obscenely under his flashlight as he tried to calm himself down. 

The hiss had been so high that it had to have come from a woman. Like the scream of a banshee, or at least, how Harry would imagine a banshee were to sound like if it were real. Except it hadn’t been angry, at all. It was devoid of aggression, though that fact did not make it any less frightening. 

The voice had come unbidden and much too close for comfort. It had been a hair’s length away from his neck, as though it had been murmured directly to his ear.

He shuddered, casting the iron door a wary glance.

It was suspicious how the creature had appeared  _ only  _ when he was gearing up to head down into the hall. Could it have done it on purpose?

It could have, for all Harry knew. He wouldn’t have noticed the door if the monster hadn’t scared the ever living shit out of him.

And now, Harry could not even think to turn his back on this door. Not when it looked like the entrance to some medieval torture chamber. 

It stuck out like a sore thumb, and against his better judgement, Harry slowly moved towards it. With an outstretched hand, he reached for the handle, while the other clutched tightly on the flashlight as though it were a weapon.

_ Well, here goes nothing. _

Closing his hand around the handle, he ignored how the cold metal drained what little warmth he had in his palm. As if it were sucking the very life out of him by simply holding on.

Harry swallowed nervously and squared his shoulders. If something stood waiting for him on the other side, he’d be ready for it. 

With a hard wrench, the door came open with a loud, ominous screech. It echoed through the silent manor like a gunshot. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, already expecting it. 

It was similar to the doors his dad often worked on in his garage. The hinges were always rusty and loud. They needed a bit of oil and the like to get up and running, to stop the annoying squeak that often plagued them. It was how he had met Ron in the first place. His dad had come by with the redhead in tow, in need of some help with a door he didn’t know how to fix.

Harry shined his flashlight inside with his left shoulder pressing against the open door. The cold metal seeped through his jumper, but he hardly paid it any attention. Not when the darkness was so thick that his small light barely penetrated it.

It was like a cloud of black smoke from an erupted volcano. The ash swimming like particles in the air, absorbing and swallowing all light that dared trickle through from the hot, summer sun. 

Unease prickled the nape of his neck when a cold gust of air blew against his face, the breeze almost alive, twisting and writhing against every inch of exposed skin on his face and neck. 

Harry had never been more grateful that he’d worn a jumper than in that moment.

It was freezing inside the room. Near arctic temperatures, if Harry had to guess. As if someone had trapped winter in that very room, with only that iron door to keep it from getting out. 

Harry shuddered, fingers like ice, as he stepped deeper into the darkened room.

The door closed with an audible click behind him, but he hardly paid it any mind. Not when the darkness was percolating in the room, almost wispy, like the tendrils of his own hair after a bath. 

He pointed his flashlight throughout the room, unsure of what he would find.

The darkness was still as oppressive as it had been from beside the door. It hadn’t changed, even as Harry stepped deeper, hand outstretched. 

Still, it refused to yield to his silent demands. Light could not cut through it. Harry doubted that even the morning sun could light this room up, even if bottled in his hand. 

And then, the flashlight went out. The darkness blinded him.

The flashlight released a soft groan and sparks of electricity shot out.

Harry hissed, dropping the thing when it shocked him, his fingers pulsing painfully. 

The flashlight rolled somewhere unseen. The sound of it like nails scratching at a chalkboard. Grating and uncomfortable, even as Harry tried his best not to panic in that moment.

The light had gone. There was nothing except an endless, unfathomable abyss. The kind that Harry imagined lingered beneath the bed of precocious children. The kind that parents told scary stories of, that his own mum had, while he was curled in his own bed, warned him of.

Harry had never felt so afraid in his life. It was the sort of fear that settled between the space between his rib cage. It lodged itself into his throat, robbing him of his ability to so much as breathe. 

It was endless, and everything Harry could see. All he could feel even as he tried not to lose himself to it, to let the monster that had lured him into this room, win.

He had to remind himself that this was what the desired. It wanted him to be afraid. It had wanted him to come through here rather than the hallway. It had trapped him in the manor, and now, it was doing everything in its power to frighten him out of his wits. To rob him of his own ability to think.

His insides churned, unable to tear off the suffocating horror that crushed his lungs.

“Harry!” 

A voice snapped him out of his stupor, released him from the choke-hold of fear and unease that nearly overwhelmed him. 

The voice...sounded like Ron. 

Recollection bloomed in his chest, and Harry released a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding. His relief, even if minor, welcomed.

Harry would recognize that voice anywhere. After years of playing football together. After weeks upon weeks of studying, complaining about Hermione’s rigid study schedule, it was unmistakable. 

_ Ron was there.  _

“Ron? Where are you?” Harry called, releasing a deep breath before turning in the direction he believed it had come from. Though where that was, Harry couldn’t be sure. Not when he couldn’t make heads or tails of where he was. He could end up walking directly into a wall, for all he knew.

Harry found that he didn’t mind that at all. Walking into a wall, that was better than standing still. An improvement, considering he had nearly lost himself to his own panic in that moment. 

Ron did not answer, but Harry began to move anyway. 

Knowing that his friend was alive was all he needed.

It was all he needed to force himself to shuffle through the unknown.

_ Ron was alive _ .

Hidden, but his friend was somewhere with him. A place that couldn’t be too far away. Ron’s voice had not been muffled, had not been masked by layers and layers of wood. 

It had been crystal clear, like Harry’s own breaths in the dark. Ron had to be close.

Hope bloomed in his stomach, and Harry did not stop even when his foot smacked onto something solid; when his arms flailed, and his palms shot out to break his fall. 

A pained sound escaped his lips when his knees knocked harshly against the floor. When his fingers smeared on something wet, and then his hands were slipping, sliding across the ground. Harry’s chin knocked painfully on the ground, a sharp burst of pain making his teeth rattle in his mouth.

It was a miracle he hadn’t bitten off his own tongue, but still, it  _ hurt _ . 

His stomach had landed on something smooth and firm, a slight warmth burning its way up from that single point of contact.

It singed his jumper with its intensity. It knocked the air from out of his lungs, his chest suddenly tighter than it had been even when he’d tried to brave the stairs to this unknown floor...

His fingers twitched and more of the substance smeared onto his hands. Harry couldn’t help making a face, disgusted by just how sticky and thick it felt. Unaware, practically blind, to what he’d landed on.

He wished he could see, at least just to make sure that what he’d landed on wasn’t mud or shite.

“ _ Harry… _ ”

A fearful scream tore from his throat when a voice murmured into his ear. It was the same high, gravelly voice. The syllables, the words,  fell from what, Harry could imagine, were lips that ghosted against his flesh. They breathed softly against the shell, enough so that Harry could feel just how dangerously close those lips were. 

Harry jolted away, or at least tried to. 

Before he could make some distance, something snaked around his ankle. It was a solid, firm hold that was so bitingly cold that Harry wondered if his blood had frozen from the contact.

Harry kicked back, a startled breath heaving from his lungs when the solid form beneath him began to  _ move _ . The object that he tripped on, that had brought him crashing to the ground was  _ alive _ .

Fear sliced through him and all rational thought fled. 

“L-let me go!” Harry shouted, but then the hand dragged him back by his ankle. Sharp nails dug into the flesh, and Harry struggled against a grip that pulled at him with more force than Harry thought possible. 

It was unyielding and none of his writhing could tear him from out of it. 

“ _ Harry… _ ” A voice purred, cold air fanning along the shell of his ear. As if death had chosen that precise moment to speak, to show him that it was there. Waiting, always waiting, in the darkness for him with outstretched hands and sharp teeth. A mouth that was bloody and wet, ready to rear back and tear into quivering skin.

He scratched onto the ground, pinpricks of pain blooming along the edges of his fingers when the presence continued to drag him away into the unknown and his nails dragged on the grooves on the floor.

“ _ You haven’t changed at all… _ ” 

Confusion bloomed along with his fear.

_ What? _

Harry’s brows knit together, even as his fingers still scrambled for something to hold onto. The slaps of his palms against the ground were deafening, nearly drowning out the sound of the woman’s voice.

“W-what are you talking--”

Harry had no time to finish his question before he was suddenly sailing through the air, weightless. 

_ No! _

His stomach jumped, and his nerves screamed. His senses were lost, and the glasses that had so far remained on the bridge of his nose, fell away. Lost in the darkness, never to be seen again.

Panic rushed through his veins, and hands reached for the glasses he knew he wouldn’t find. Hoping, against all hope, that his fingers would catch on the wiry frames.

His fingers met nothing but air. 

“ _ Still too blind even with everything laying out in the open…” _

Harry suddenly stopped. His toes were no longer touching the ground. He was dangling in the air, held up by some invisible force that robbed him completely of movement. 

“ _ Naive...trusting...in spite of the predator prowling around you…” _

Harry tried to move his fingers, but they were frozen. He couldn’t even wriggle his toes. All he could do was throw his head back and forward, tilt and shift.

All of his movements had been robbed from him.

It was  _ impossible. _

His fear swelled inside him at this fact, at the knowledge that he was helpless. That there was nothing he could do, not when the monster had finally revealed itself.

“ _ A bleeding heart...following a dangerous path with death hanging above your head...” _

A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck, and he gasped when the room suddenly exploded with light.

It blinded him, and Harry immediately closed his eyes to ease the ache that settled over his temples.

_ “How I’ve missed you…” _

Slowly, he opened his eyes; wanting nothing more than to figure out what this creature was even talking about...

And he immediately wished he hadn’t. Not even his poor vision could mask it.

The creature that had stolen Ron from him. The monster that had hidden itself away, had played with him like he were some toy, stood before him.

Her skin was pale. Bone white and dry. 

The skin glittered like diamonds, scales flashing purples and pinks when they caught along her jaw, cheekbone, and temples. She was hairless, the same white flesh stretched above her head.

Harry took her in, unable to look away.

Her face was monstrous. Instead of a nose at the center of her a face, where a nose  _ should  _ have been, there were two slits. They flared in time with her soft breaths. Thin lips were stretched into a sharp smile, dazzling white teeth exposed to his gaze.

Yet, those were not the features that truly made her horrifying. They weren’t what struck him, what made breathing more and more difficult as he stared at her.

Her eyes were  _ scarlet _ . Instead of the browns and blues, greens and hazels he had come to see throughout his life, her eyes were red,  _ so  _ red that Harry wondered if someone had painted her irises with blood. 

Harry couldn’t look away.

His eyes were captivated, caught by the thin shape of her pupils. They should have been  _ round _ . But they weren’t. There was little humanity in that gaze. They were the eye’s of a snake, the ring of red making the creature look even more monstrous than she did already.

How had Harry  _ missed  _ this, when those eyes were so bright? How had walked into this manor without catching even a glimpse of eyes as cold and deep as those, when they gleamed like precious rubies even with the room lit up like a light show?

It didn’t make sense, but Harry had quickly learned that  _ nothing  _ about this whole evening did. Not the disappearance of his friend. Not the door shutting closed behind him as he tried to piece together this mystery. None of it did.

She was the most frightening creature he had ever seen. No horror movie could capture the essence of the power her face retained. 

Absolutely  _ nothing _ .

And there was no running away from her. No turning back, even when every thought in his head screamed for him to fight off the power keeping him restrained. 

He made to shift, to pull back as far away as he could, but his body was immobile. 

There was nowhere to run.

“W-what are you? What have you done to Ron?” Harry asked, voice so soft that if it weren’t for the silence that had fallen between them, he would not have known he’d spoken at all. Blood pumped rapidly in his chest, the rush of it like a torrential rain that refused to abate. 

Panic pulsed within him, unrestrained. 

The woman tilted her head to one side, the gesture like that of a predator assessing its prey. The movement drew Harry’s eye to the rest of her, giving him a chance to break from the intensity of her gaze.

The creature was shrouded in shadows. The long, thick fabric wrapped around her shoulders and hips, the cloth pooling to the ground. As if she hadn’t a care in the world that her clothes were getting dirty on the dirty floor. 

Harry watched her with bated breaths.

She stepped closer, closing the short space between them with one fluid movement. 

Harry followed the way her body swayed, how the cloth around her shape began to melt and fall away from her shoulders.

Pale skin revealed itself to him. Scaled where the bone jutted out from her rib cage, where her hip bones were most prominent and easy to discern. 

She bared herself to him, unveiled rosy nipples that were nearly the same shade as her lips. 

A deep flush settled onto his cheeks, utterly embarrassed and perplexed, as to why she was suddenly completely  _ starkers.  _ Why she was bridging the distance between them rather than killing him, as he was certain she would.

It didn’t make any sense to him, and Harry gaped when the fabric pooled completely to the ground and she stood before him, her own lips near his own, nude.

They were near enough that Harry could count her eyelashes, and how they framed her almond shaped eyes. Even without his glasses.

She was too close, and Harry wanted nothing more than to jolt back. To run and find Ron. To never return, even when this creature seemed to know him so well.

Her eyes were lit with recognition and something else. An emotion he had only ever seen an animal wear when presented with a delicious meal.

Harry wondered if he was that meal. If she planned to devour him, consuming him, before turning on Ron…

If Ron was even still  _ alive. _

“He is unconscious. You need not be concerned for him.” She murmured, trailing her nails against his cheek with an intense look of wonder. As if she had never touched skin as soft as his, or touched a human-being before.

Harry flinched, the contact making his skin prickle with gooseflesh.

“He will live. He has served his purpose.”

_ Purpose? _

Harry licked his lips, unease winding more tightly around his throat when her gaze flickered to his lips, drawn in by the simple gesture like a moth to a flame.

“W-what do you mean? What are you even talking about? Just who bloody  _ are  _ you?” Harry said, eyes glued to the skin between her eyes.

Her nails trailed down his throat, and they scratched along his neck. They curled around the collar of his jumper, and Harry’s heart nearly leaped from out of his chest. 

Her touch was questing, but nothing invasive. 

Though his heart refused to settle, even when her touches had yet to turn violent.

“Did you think that your friend brought you here out of curiosity? Suddenly brave and intrigued by the promises lurking within my  _ home _ ?”

Harry swallowed, shooting the creature a glare when her lips twisted into a victorious smile.

It set every nerve in Harry’s body on edge.

“Of course not, dearest Harry. You and I both know that your friend would never risk himself in this way...and let alone drag you along with him.”

_ How did she know my name? How did she know so much about Ron? _

Harry’s stomach dropped when she leaned in closer, her lips a whisper against his own.

“You are here because I wished it. From your decision to enter the forest to your refusal to turn back.”

Heat danced along his cheeks when a hand slid underneath his jumper. The fingers were cold, and her nails did nothing to stop his skin from crawling when it scratched up his stomach.

Harry wondered faintly if she had somehow drawn blood, if with a practiced precision, those claws could rip him open if she wished it. 

Something wet slid between his lips, and Harry barely bit back a gasp when a long, forked tongue slipped past the woman’s lips. Her eyes shuttered closed for a brief second, as if the taste of his mouth were the sweetest thing she’d ever had in years.

_ Oh god. _

“Don’t touch me!” Harry protested, but the creature did not listen. 

She pressed against him completely, her naked breasts pressed against his chest and a long slim leg settled between his thighs, parting them for her.

Harry wanted to die.

“You taste... _ exquisite _ , Harry.” She said after pulling her tongue back, eyes flickering open to fix him with a hungry look.

“If you don’t stay away from me I’ll--” 

Harry was unable to finish the sentence. 

The monster had dropped her hand from his face and down to the fly of his trousers in seconds. Her nails were digging harshly against the material, and it took all the restraint Harry possessed to not squeak with surprise.

His cheeks burned brighter, embarrassment morphing into horror when the woman began to transform before him. 

Once subtle serpentine features became more monstrous. Fangs began to grow from out of her mouth, her elegant cheekbones and jaw began to narrow. Her legs melted into one another, until it was no longer just one leg between his thighs, but a massive coil.

Pearly scales glinted underneath the atrocious yellow light above them, and Harry could only watch with mute horror as she became more beast than woman. 

Harry’s throat tightened.

“Or you’ll what?” She mused, and Harry shot the monstrous bitch a glare. 

The last thing he’d expected when he came after Ron was to come face to face with a snake monster. He’d guessed, at most, that there was a ghost in the manor. That the ghost, after it had discovered what his intentions were, would try.

To be accosted, to be told that he was the reason Ron had been snatched in the first place, was ridiculous. 

His fear gave way to anger and confusion. He didn’t know what to feel, his mind shuffled through so many feelings that it was a miracle he could even feel anything at all.

Everything about the situation was overwhelming, and just as he was about to say a few choice words; tell her exactly what he thought of her, the creature’s grip on his groin tightened to the point of pain.

Harry saw white and a scream tore from his throat. 

Her grip was punishing and cruel. Her laughter the only sound Harry could make out through his loud yowls and ragged breaths.

“You have no power here. You are a mere  _ human  _ now...” She sneered the word “human” out as if it disgusted her. 

If his prick wasn’t currently being crushed within her grip, he might have pointed out that it was better to be human that a hideous monster. A creature that thrived in the darkness, that had no hope of blending in with the humans she spoke ill of.

“...For the time being, at least.” She said, and all the air fled from his lungs at the mischievous gleam in her eyes. 

Harry glared at her, even through the pain, and spat.

Satisfaction blossomed in his chest when his aim was true and a thin trail of saliva ran from the top of her cheek bone down to her chin.

He had expected anger for his defiance. He knew that behaving the way that he had would only incite her ire.

But instead of angering the beast as he had first anticipated, the creature began to laugh at him. Her shoulders shook with amusement and her grip on his groin loosened enough for him to relax.

_ Thank god. _

His prick still throbbed, but it was still better than when she’d been bloody crushing it.

“You’re  _ mad _ , absolutely insane.” Harry gaped, unnerved by the glee that flashed in her eyes. It made her eyes burn brighter, like someone had shone a bright light into them.

“And  _ you _ , are perfect…” She hissed, fingers lightly tracing along the inseam of his trousers. The touch made his skin jump and his mouth part with discomfort. 

“From your riotous curls to your defiant mouth...you are truly my Harry.” 

Harry had never been more confused in his life. He didn’t know who he was supposed to be, who she kept speaking of with such an excited glint in her gaze.

“I-I don’t know what you’re on about, but I don’t even know your  _ name _ . I am nothing--”

“My name is Lord Voldemort, and you belong to  _ me.” _

Harry made to protest but stopped when her fingers, the very same fingers that were skirting over his groin, slid up and into the waistband of his pants. Dangerous nails trailed along the skin, and Harry refrained from insulting her.

Not with those claws. He wasn’t entirely mad enough to incite her with her hand down his bloody trousers. 

She had nearly crushed his prick earlier. There was no telling what she might do if he said something in that moment.

“Your impertinent tongue...your brilliant eyes...all of it is  _ mine _ . I allowed you free reign once. Permitted you to live a normal life before you were stolen from me. But no more, I will not lose you a second time.”

Voldemort looked absolutely feral. Her eyes were wild, all of her amusement had drained from her face. She looked as though Harry would, at any moment, be snatched from her grasp.

And then she was on him.

The hand playing with the sliver of skin inside his trousers wrapped around his waist, while the other, wove itself into his hair. She yanked and Harry groaned, a protest thick on his tongue when she bent his head so far back he could only see the light bulb hanging on the ceiling.

“Let me go!” Harry cried out when her fingers tightened on his hair, when she pulled his head further back and she pressed her face against the crook of his neck. She smelled him, her mouth hot and wet against the sensitive flesh.

He didn’t know what she was doing, but he didn’t trust it. Not when she had fangs and she had no qualms whatsoever about hurting him. 

She said that she missed him. That she enjoyed his impertinence. Harry did not trust her not to bite into his neck, to not poison him with her sharp teeth.

“Never again, Harry.  _ Never again. _ ”

Harry’s world exploded with pain. 

Sharp teeth sunk into his neck, and Harry could not bite back his screams when her jaw locked. She refused to let him go even when movement returned to his limbs, when the force restraining him melted away and he fell into her arms.

He was like a rag doll, unable to do much else as he dug his fingers into her bare shoulders. He practically crushed the skin, dug blunt nails into the flesh. He did whatever he could to get her off of him, to stop her from grinding her teeth into his neck until Harry could only see, could only feel, could only hear his own agonized cries and the pulse of his heartbeat.

The agony began to abate, but Harry’s horror only increased, his cries became more pronounced when numbness then began to spread from where her teeth had sunk. It was like ice chasing after the warmth of the gleaming sun. 

Tears ran down his cheeks, the pain and the fear so much that he couldn’t contain them.

_ NO! _

Voldemort retracted her fangs from his throat, the warmth suction of her lips falling away to expose his throat to blistering cold. His body shook, but the woman’s arms holding tightly onto him could not chase away the cold.

The terrible cold spread inside him, oozed from his pours, from his lips, and ears. Harry sobbed, terrified, and Voldemort lapped at his neck.

Her tongue was abrasive against his skin, and he shuddered when she continued to drink the blood leaking from his throat. The sound of her slurps and ragged breaths made his stomach turn, more than it already was.

“ _ Shhh _ ...”

He didn’t care that he looked pathetic. That his eyes burned and his throat felt like sandpaper. He didn’t want this. 

He wanted it all to stop.

“It’s frightening at first, but in time, you will see the gift I have bestowed you. Death shall never have you...not again.”

Harry sobbed harder, and Voldemort’s words became softer. The madness had gone, evaporated like smoke from the tenor of her voice. As if it had never been.

“ _ My mate...my soul… _ ”

And then, his vision swam. The world began to darken at the corners; his lips, his ears, his fingers, and his toes all faded from his memory. 

Something pulled at him, squirmed and writhed from somewhere within him. It itched, dragging him deeper into the nothing. 

A soft voice began to speak, one he, somehow, knew he should have recognized, but couldn’t. It sang to him, carried him adrift. 

“ _ Sleep...and remember me…” _

Harry closed his eyes, and then--

Nothing.


End file.
